When the sun has slept so long
And the swooning moths are gone
Fir and fortune favoured air
Chimes console the children, bare
Broken noises in the earth
Aching currents on the firth
Blistered fingers from the burn
Spirals where the waters churn
Sword above the sunken skull
Lullabies to lift the lull
Covered heads amidst the rain
Sow a seed to reap the grain